


The Money Sport

by Pathologies



Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Gen, Gun Fight, I love weird mutual respect relationships, Prequel, based in sf zero universe, knife fight, leon's unhealthy obsession with violence and wolf o'donnell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pathologies/pseuds/Pathologies
Summary: How Leon and Wolf met





	

It's a nameless moon circling Macbeth, almost as cold and dead as the planet it keeps companion. Only landmarks that keeps it from turning into a wasteland is the jagged surface of glaciers, blue giants with harsh geometric veins of orange that are too thin for anyone to fall in, but it keeps the surface from becoming friendly to ground transportation or feet with the craggy knife-like formations across the surface. 

An outpost rarely sticks to the side of one formation, barracks and defense wall. The other side is a sentry and communications tower, jutting only slightly higher than the bizarre glacier it rests against, both of them quick steel and concrete constructions made for practicality, not appearance.

He lands his own fighter a ways away from the barracks, marching through the ice to hop over the back wall into the barracks. First thing to note: everyone has cowered away from the front defense wall toward the sentry. Second thing to note: the deathly quiet on every foot soldier's face when he comes in. 

Naturally he cracks a smile, “What's with the depressing mood? Thought you guys would be celebrating now that I'm here.”

A sturdy badger comes in, his uniform and age tell of the high rank he has in this particular group, “You're the negotiator, I assume?”

“Negotiator, mercenary, same thing,” the wolf gruffly unzipped his coat, “You paid me for something...something about a rogue situation?”

He nodded, “I think you should see for yourself.”

The colonel motions two reluctant soldiers to the front wall. Wolf can see it much clearer from there: the cracked holes across its surface, cracks forming from and between each hole. Nearby he can see a small communication unit.

“So uh...” Wolf mused, “Your problem's one guy?”

“Not one man, a monster,” a trooper shuddered.

The colonel frowned, “He infiltrated our tower, took out everyone there, and has us pinned here. We've been trying to communicate with him but...”

The troops shudder.

“He does, huh?” Wolf grabbed one trooper's helmet (much to their dismay), took out his own laser rifle strapped to his back. Setting the helmet on the rifle, he raised it above the wall just high enough for anyone to see the suggestion of a head. A blue laser fire incinerates a hole into the helmet.

The little radio blares with static life as a posh voice came out of it, “Go ahead, keep teasing me. If only that helmet had a real head, it might have been spared what I'm saving for the rest of you.”

Wolf shoved the radio unit into his pocket, ignoring the clearly shaken troops and a barely kept-together colonel . Back to the laser holes...

“Lot of holes in this wall...I'm guessin'...he's weakening this whole thing...makin' you think he's trying to pin you down. But I say...a few more shots and...” he mimes a wall crumbling, “He can do whatever he wants. Actually pretty impressive.”

The colonel signals to the rest of his troop, “Me and a handful of troops are ready to go with you, just give the word. We're ready to follow your guidance.”

Wolf glanced at them before heading back, “Nah. I don't need you.”

“But...have you not seen...he's already terminated half my company.”

“That's what makes it interesting,” he began walking back to his fighter.

He rushed after Wolf, “Are you leaving us?! We already gave you a good forward!”

“Just sit tight,” he climbed aboard his cockpit, “You can do that, right?”

A few more extra minutes, but it was worth those minutes to make an alternate trajectory. Down he flew past the other side of the moon, landing atop a higher plateau some distance from the sentry tower. He must have seen it land. He keeps his hands reflexively on the joystick when he's about to open the cockpit. 

His pocket speaks with a muffled bit of static. Aborting his cockpit open, he pulls out the radio.

“You must think you're clever, making an approach from the nightside of the moon. But that won't stop your impending death. Nothing around this tower survives.”

He shrugged, “I got that. I mean, if I really wanted to stop wasting time I'd just drop a payload and fly home.”

“But you refused,” the voice sneered, “You're a petty soldier for hire. It would hurt your pay.”

“Why I think you look down on me. Bad mistake, pretty mouth. Can I ask how you get money?”

“I take what I want.” the enjoyment in that sentence had a cruel undertone to it.

Wolf leaned into his seat, “This doesn't make a lot of financial sense, playing sniper's nest to a soldier outpost.”

You could hear a toothy smile breaking out slowly as he talked, “An athlete plays to hone his skills, to see the limits of his training.”

“So it's a sport, huh?” he pauses, “I can respect that. Still, you'd probably make more getting paid for it instead of being a drifter.”

Wolf squinted at the sentry tower. Just enough glass to maybe get a peek inside...

“You must be thinking this is buying you time. I talk to all my prey like this. You must be thinking how you can take off before laser his your canine skull.”

Wolf pauses, scratching his chin, “Hmm....”

His hand, still on the joystick immediately fires at the sentry tower window. Property damage, but oh well. They can fix that. Before he even hears the loud cursing and explosive confusion of noise, Wolf leaps out of the cockpit, rushing towards the iceberg sloping down the structure.

Wolf knows enough to zig zag, make his pattern irrational and hard to pinpoint. He starts bounding down the craggy rock slope, gaining a feral speed. He can smell pinpoint burning around him as he bounds his way downward, making tumbles and leaps. He even stoops as to run on all fours. Doesn't take looking to tell this sniper is managing to keep up with him, even if he hasn't hit yet. This guy...has got some serious chops. 

As he let that thought pass his head, his thigh immediately burns up with red hot pain. Wolf grits his teeth, pulling his body through it. It was a lucky shot, especially it was feet before he got beneath the safety of the sentry tower entrance. 

“Crud,” he growled. Nicked him in the inner thigh. Could make him bleed out if he didn't wrap it. Wolf dropped his jacket and pulled off his tank, ripping a strip of cloth. Along with a food ration box, he wrapped the material around his leg, banding it tight to put a stymie to the bleeding.

His radio unit came to life, “You're not dead. Impressive.”

“You almost made me dead, that's pretty good.”

“Do you think coming up here and killing me is that easy? I've destroyed gangs with as little as a knife.”

“Shut up,” he sighed dismissively. So there came the task of actually getting into the tower. Turns out his sniper managed to weld the metal doors shut, making getting in by electronic means impossible. Getting in, however, was difficult but not impossible.

Wolf popped a grenade from one vest pocket and gently tossed it away before clearing the blast distance. As the boom went off he said to himself, “That's his fault.”

Radio silence so far as he went straight for the elevator which...of course, was rendered inoperable. Clever killer. Wolf certainly wanted that other half of the money, but he couldn't resist admiration for someone so dedicated to the craft of murder. Or even making Wolf think murder could be a craft. 

He goes for the service elevator, pistol finally drawn as he makes a slow climb—not an easy task with a wounded leg. The instant Wolf spies a suggestion of a head, he fires toward it, quite accurately. Smoke plumes behind. He can see now his artistic assassin is a chameleon. Not what he imagined, but it makes his originality more impressive. There's an attempt to fire back, which Wolf counters just as hard. He can only act by swaying and dropping slightly to avoid fire. Their exchange soon reaches one logical conclusion: a smoky draw.

“Your long range is good, but you shoot a pistol for trash!”

The chameleon hissed. “Foolish mercenary. Did you come this far to die?”

“I came this far to collect money.” he hoisted himself up, his gun still drawn, “You know...I hate to kill you so impersonally...I think if any of us are to go out, it'd be in good ol' fashioned melee. No guns, you and me only.”

There was quiet, “An interesting proposal. I'd hate for you to die so pathetically, too. The way you fight...so ferocious...I want to see it beyond my scope. Very well. Drop your gun.”

“I got a better idea: both of us on the count of three drop 'em.”

Oddly enough, they managed to drop them at the same time. But Wolf didn't let down his guard. He thumbed over his pockets, more than one carrying munitions. Just in case he met with another barrel...

Wolf finally made it to the peak of the sentry post, greeted by reptilian host. Somehow the chameleon turned this sniper nest into a literal nest: with a tent, stockpiled food, of course the rifle, and clothing he assumed belonged to the soldiers who once patrolled here. He didn't want to know what happened to the bodies that lived in those clothes...

Of course there was his host: not a slob like he expected, but prim in dark leather, his curves suggesting the hint of elegance. His half-lidded eyes had the look of someone with their head in their books, but no mistake...this guy could kill.

“I was wrong to dismiss you,” he said, “You're a true killer on the battlefield. You're almost unstoppable. I wish I could see what you could do on a real battleground...”

“Yeah, guess it's a real shame,” Wolf grinned, “So you want to put the talk away and just get to the fight?”

It wasn't even like a switch, it was like reflex. The chameleon bent to an offensive stance, both hands quick to draw knives. He saw it now: he had a whole part of his leg and belt dedicated to keeping knives. And these knives were elegant slice-and-dicers.

“That ain't going to scare me, pup,” he smirked. Finally, a real challenge. His challenger made the first move by stabbing ahead, aiming for a disemboweling move. He side stepped out of the way, dipping his elbow as a violent counter to the attack. The chameleon whipped his tail round his arm, pulling it down to slam his body against the ground. Wolf caught himself by the palm of his hand, roll out of the reptile's reach. But not before a boot hit his pained leg, winning a seething growl from the mercenary.

He has to say, the chameleon has a finesse for this kind of fight. There was two chances the chameleon could have ended him if he didn't act fast enough. Wolf hasn't lost his toothy grin, not losing step with his knife wielding attacker. The chameleon chopped forward with one hand, Wolf weaving in with a sharp punch to his opponent's chest. 

Groaning, his next slice felt much sloppy, slipping around to leap atop Wolf. It hurt, but his admiration didn't diminish. He could see the ferocity and skill of the mercenary he picked out through his rifle scope out in the ice. He was an admirable prey to kill, the ultimate trophy to dispatch. He leaped atop Wolf's back, his knives diving for his neck and skull. If he can't keep this rivalry going as long as possible, he can keep him as a beautiful trophy.

Wolf felt him on his back. With the foothold and speed he knew there was only one path: death. He wouldn't leave anything to chance. He slipped out his jacket, tossing it over the lizard. The surprise knocked him off balance, off his back. Wolf spun with his advantage, gathering the jacket over the chameleon's head and arms. With his makeshift body bag, he drove a hard punch to the stomach, arms, before ultimately pile driving him to the ground.

With the assassin pinned under his weight he could safely disarm the reptile and unmask him. He heaved as he tossed the knives away, carefully throwing out one from each belt, “Gotta say, you know how to play.”

“You're as fierce...as I thought you were...” the chameleon had no fear on his face, “If I die by your hands, it's a worthy death.”

Wolf rolled his shoulders back, his eyes flipping over. He relinquished, hoisting the reptile up, “...how about you do something better than dying?”

“You must have missed me trying to kill you, mercenary,” he never felt so bewildered. 

Wolf extended a friendly handshake, grabbing it, “I did and no way can you waste that kind of talent. If you fly with me, I can give you more chances to be a...what did you say...an athlete in murder.”

The chameleon had a wave of excitement wash over him as he shook that hand. A chance to watch this mercenary...no, a war machine in more engagements...it was being christened in a religious awakening of bloodlust.

“...I will follow you. I want to flower into a mercenary as ruthless as you.”

“You're pretty close.” he laughed, giving a jovial swat on the back, “What's your name?”

“Leon Powalski.”

“Right. Say, Leon. Could you pretend to be dead? I wanna collect my money still.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if there's a moon on Macbeth, I just wanted to make an icy setting.


End file.
